The Mafia War
by Trane7
Summary: The Nazi war machine burned in the horizon. But back at home the Italian Mafia turned The City upside down. The Russo's, Vinni's and Azzurro's were organizing crime and doing business. Leonard Church was right in the middle of everything, between the Russos and Azzurros. What was an Italian to do?
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

"It's cold," he whispered. He crouched low to the ground, rubbing his hands over the soft winter soil. It felt good on his skin, it felt nice. It reminded him of her.

"Director, we have to go." A man behind him said. He was a young man, his voice afflicted with youth as he folded his hands behind his back. A long black trench coat, perfectly hiding the holster by his chest, and a bowler hat hiding his short shaggy blonde hair.

"A moment longer, Agent Washington. I'm sure you can understand." He said, his voice gravelly and quiet. The young agent grimaced, glancing from side to side in uncertainty, before discreetly nodding at the Director.

"Yes, sir," he said before turning and walking to the black car parked next to the park.

The Director watched him go. Neither speaking nor blinking as the cold wind blew next to him. He glanced at his feet, they felt oddly cold. Dead. He didn't know why he came here, to a place of forgotten memories. Did he expect to be warmed in the presence of her last moments? Or to gain strength to move on?

He didn't know and he couldn't find the answer. He screwed his hat onto his head, a small black hat she had given him on a summer weekend and lightly walked towards the parked car.

He pulled the door free and slipped inside. Agent Washington was already seated at the front, his hands gripping the steering wheel to stare back at him. "Director?" He asked, there was uncertainty in his eyes. "I expected that you'd take longer."

The Director smiled at him, "No more time can be taken Agent Washington. Now, please take us to headquarters." Washington started the engine and lightly pressed on the gas. He glanced back at the Director as they exited the park, seamlessly entering oncoming traffic with grace.

"Sir," Washington said, he sounded uncomfortable, "I'm sorry for your loss." He sounded sorrowful. As though it was his fault that she had died.

"No," The Director said quickly, too quickly, "I do not seek forgiveness Agent Washington. I seek to hold the only treasure I ever knew, nothing else." Washington was silent as they continued on their way.

The drive was peaceful, the city was calm. World War I was at its peak and soon it would end. As the Director of CIA Special Operations Division; Codenamed: FREELANCER, the Director was privy to certain information. That included the fact that several hundred paratroopers were being dropped behind German lines.

The Director estimated the time till everything ended. Till the war on the horizon ended and the war on the streets to begin. With the economic strain of maintaining the troops, the disorder and anxiety of full scale warfare and lack of jobs arising, it was only a matter of time until organized crime took a firm hold onto the city.

The black CIA company car strode into an underground parking garage of a tall non-descript building at the center of the City. Agent Washington exchanged his identification card with the guard on duty and the man saluted crisply. Washington nodded his head, said a quiet, "Keep up the good work, soldier," before driving the car onwards.

It amused the Director to think that Agent Washington still saw everything as strictly military. He would soon learn that the CIA, Project Freelancer in general, was so much more different than the army.

The car stopped and the Director exited the car. Washington stopped the engine, rigged the steering wheel with a jammer in its hinges, before stepping out of the car with his dominant leg first.

Perhaps the newly minted Agent was already broken into the job. The Director didn't pay the action anymore mind and entered an elevator, he clicked the thirtieth floor and waited patiently to arrive at his destination. Washington staying absolutely quiet from where he sat. The Director wasn't much of a talker.

A ding sounded and the both of them stepped out onto the hallway. There were rows of office desks lining the length of the room, agents busily moving back and forth between them with stacks of papers and an overwhelming sense of urgency. The Director raised an eyebrow, watching the wanton chaos for all of a minute before striding towards his office.

Agent Washington said his goodbyes before heading to his desk, where he noticed a gray-haired woman was currently riffling through his paperwork. The Director returned it with a nod and just before he reached the door he felt a familiar presence behind him. The smell of roses and cherries, the smell of _her_ , drifting into his nose.

"Sir!" Agent Carolina said, "There has been an increase in activity from the Mafia on this side of town. Agent Connecticut and Florida were engaged with Mafia men in the factory on the west side of town. They were packing some serious heat, Sir." The Director wondered if 'serious heat' was correct terminology, but nodded his head regardless.

"Understood Agent Carolina," she saluted him. Her eyes were filled with trust, somewhere deep down inside he felt himself long to meet that trust. But not yet, one day they can be happy again. As a family.

She dropped her hand and walked towards her desk, another Agent was standing there. He had the flair of a typical american army officer. Short hair, a scar running down his eye, a true GI through and through. But his one remaining eye shined of philosophical intelligence, one that when directed with the redheaded woman, was brimming with adoration.

He'd do well, the Director thought, to watch his back from now on. He pushed open his door and stepped through, eyeing the several pieces of doctorates and awards he had won from his studies as a scientist.

He tapped them all once with his finger, knocking off dust that accumulated from years of merely hanging up on a wall. He turned and strode to his mahogany wood desk, the surface of which was adorned with a neat stack of papers and a roll of pens and pencils. Sitting at the front of a desk was a small picture, framed in a simple white design. He brushed his finger against the image, imagining it actually touching skin and feeling the light feel of hair.

He retracted his hand and sat on his chair. A deep sigh left his mouth as he laced his fingers together over his table. The papers on his desk were several police reports, notices from the CIA and FBI, as well as other requests for him to sign. Just another day in the office.

Another day of being the Director. Yes, there was much work to be done.


	2. Chapter 2

The Vinci family couldn't be called the biggest family but they had a lot of assets. It was what made them unique to the other families, as they provided most of the muscle, the Vinci family brought with them the brains and the money.

Racketeering was all fair and good but business, back-room and credible, were a whole different ball game. You couldn't weasel your way into something like that, you needed charm that not a lot of people can meet. You needed the smooth talk to get yourself a signed contract even to the highest bidder, and a right hook to match. That was what made the Vinni family the power that it was, and why the Russo family never liked them. For good reason, of course.

There were three big families in The City.

The Russo family, headed by Bruno Napitaniole, The Vinni family, headed by Vic Federico, and The Azzurro family, headed by Joe Longo.

They were the Big Three. The Russo never liked any of the other families, hated them with a passion, and the Azzurro were willing to do business with anyone that had the cash. The Vinni were in the middle. They were the neutral zone.

Church liked that. The middle zone, the _safe_ zone. He sat quietly at the desk, his mind lost in thought as he scribbled notes into his notebook. Petty things, like vulnerable storefronts he could spy from where he sat, equal number of girls loitering nearby with purses ripped for the taking and so many more delicate jewellery stores.

He nursed the cup of scotch nearby, rubbing the tips of his fingers around the the cup before a presence broke his silent musings. "Hey Church," Vic Jr said as he sat down on the bench.

Church made a face in his head but managed a polite smile at the Vinni family's 'Little Federico'. "Hey Vic," Church greeted, carefully closing his notebook and slipping it into his suit pocket. Vic grinned at him and Church was thankful he had italian blood in him, if not, Vic would not nearly be as hospitable as he was now.

"What you got there?" Vic asked curiously. The 'made man' looked over the table to catch a fleeting glance of the notebook but Church was too fast and had already slipped it into his pocket.

"Nothing to worry about," Church said dismissively, downing his cup of scotch. It flushed down his throat, swishing in his gut before settling itself. Church pulled his lips back, fighting against the whiplash that appeared afterwards, and then sighed in content. "You need me for a job?"

Church could be considered a 'made-man' if you looked at how deep of a relationship he had with the current head Vic Federico Snr. But in all actuality he had never taken the ceremony of loyalty to Vic but he had taken the Omertà, the oath of silence, and paid tribute for working with him for so long. It made him an honorary member, with a few privileges.

That was what Church liked the best out of the Vinni's, they were good to their friends. Vic smiled at Church as he linked his fingers together, all business-like for another round. "You got them fire in those eyes! I like that," Vic reached his hand into his vest and pulled out an envelope, "See here alright. The Vinni's were trying to do a deal with some...ehhh ruffians in the west end of The City. It was supposed to be a clean deal but, uh, you see they weren't on the same page as we were."

Vic made a face, a sort of cross between the type of face you see when you caught some doing something really bad and the face you'd make when you know that someone was about to receive a very, _very,_ heavy punishment. "That's not good. No, no, no, that is not very good of them. Juliano got shot in the leg and Lui lost an eye. Now you know the Blood-for-Blood rule right?"

Church nodded his head as he leaned in close, his eyes sparking dangerously. They were his friends too, and if it's one thing the Vinni's told him, it was that family meant everything. "You can't take revenge on another member of the family without the Boss's permission." He heard that rule, it was strict, breaking it was grounds for death and the no family worth their salt dealt with those who broke the rules with mercy.

"These ruffians, the Backdoor Snakes, aren't part of our family and have been stirring trouble for all of the Big Three," Vic leaned in close, "Burning down houses, unchecked homicide, rapings, arsenic," Vic leaned in, his lips pursed as he made a face, "killing cops." The color drained from Church's face. That was a very bad thing, if the cops suddenly took interest on them, who's to say they wouldn't just decide to get rid of the families too.

"This isn't just a problem for the Vinni's, The Russo's and Azzurro's are calling for blood. Snakes blood," Vic punctuated this by passing the envelope over. Church picked up and opened it to see a stack of dollar bills inside. "You'll get more after everything is said and done."

Church contemplated a little more but something had been gnawing at him since a while ago, "You said that this is a problem for all the families. What did you mean by that?" Church asked.

Vic smiled knowingly, leaning back as he brought a cup of whiskey, seemingly from nowhere, up to his lips. "The Azzurro's and Russo's will be joining us in this little business. I'm sure you understand." Church made a face, looking at the stack of bills as he did.

He didn't mind the Azzurros but the Russos always got on his nerves. Vic, seeing the hesitation, quickly lashed his hand out in front of church face. His smile was ever present as he stared at Church, "No one fucks with _Costa Nostra_ right?"

Church stared at the hand, fighting his inner demons, before nodding his head. "Ok," he said finally. Vic smiled and they shook hands.

Church stood up from his seat and made his way out but before he stepped through the door Vic grabbed his hand, stalling him. "Oh, I almost forgot," he said, "here, when you find that weasel of a leader use this to kill him."

Church looked down at the silver handgun that he handed him. It glinted under the artificial light and Church looked questioningly at Vic. "It belongs to Luigi," Vic explained darkly, "he's dead now."

Church accepted it and nodded. He exited the shop without a glance back and entered his custom blue and black car. He twisted the ignition and drove the car towards the address that was in the envelope. He thought about the job, it felt like a cross between a personal vendetta and an actual mission.

He didn't know how he felt about that.

Thirty minutes of driving, fifty if he had obeyed traffic laws, were spent in silent contemplation as he fingered the silver weapon now holstered to his chest. It wasn't long later that he pulled up next to an apartment building, it's third floor overlooking the factory that the Backdoor Snakes frequent perfectly.

Church walked up to the door and banged his fist twice. There was a rustling sound and Church could see two shadows moving close to the door while one looked through the keyhole. It was military like, Church deduced it was the reds.

" _Fratello,_ " Church said. There was silence, then the door opened. An old looking man, eyes weathered and worn with a jagged scar going down his left side. He wore a deep red overcoat and matching hat, the only thing off putting about him was the shotgun in his hands.

"You're no brother of mine," he grumbled. He stepped back and gestured his head inside. Church nodded and entered, glancing at his sides to see two of the men that had taken positions to stop him.

One had shaggy, dirty blonde hair. His face was tanned, making Church believe that he wasn't italian. That made him an Associate, one that the Russo's apparently trusted. The other was light, the skin of an irishman, but he had the italian face and eyes that were slightly obscured behind glasses. They wore slightly matching suits, the tanned one didn't have an overcoat and the color of the vest he wore inside his jacket was orange. The rest of the suit was khaki with black dress shoes and a fedora with an orange lining finishing the look.

The other one was almost the same, except he didn't wear a vest and he also had an overcoat. The overcoat reached down to his knees and it hugged his figure tightly by the sides. He too wore a fedora, this one with a lining of maroon.

"The Azzurro's are over there," the tanned one said, jerking his thumb back at two men at a corner. "We have important things to do, so, skedaddle why don't you?" Church frowned, but nodded his head anyways.

He bumped shoulders with him though in silent contempt and the man returned it with an even glare. Their eyes stayed glued to each other for a second longer, before he broke off and headed to greet the Azzurros.

To his surprise there was a black man among them. The Azzurro's were known to be tolerant but he never knew they were willing to allow one of them into their ranks. Of course Church was being a little bit biased, the only coloured people he met were trying to kill him or caused far too much noise for the Vinni's liking.

The man was wearing an all gray suit, with an aqua vest and a fedora that rested snugly against his head. His suit looked expensive, liked it was bought at a very expensive shop, but the sleeves were a little bit past his wrists and the end of his pants pooled around his knee. He looked high-class but at the same time, he looked humble. "You the Vinni?" The black man asked as he brought his arm out for a shake.

Church hesitated, hovering his hands in the air, before taking it and giving a firm shake. "The name's Tucker, Lavernius Tucker." Church nodded, he acted like a big shot but he had a grip. Money called that he was a high Associate in the Azzurro's.

"Church," He greeted.

The next kid was definitely a 'made-man', just had those eyes. "Hello there! It's nice to meet you," the kid pulled at his hand to shake. The grip was monstrous, practically breaking his fingers just by touching it. "My name's Caboose, oh, I hope we can be really special friends!"

Church blinked at him before turning to Tucker, "Caboose? That doesn't sound like an italian name." Tucker snorted as he crossed his arms.

"That's because it's not," he said, "it's his nickname and he'd just too dumb to realise it." Caboose frown at Tucker before seemingly brightening and standing next to his friend. Church nodded his head hesitantly before turning to the window overlooking the factory.

"So, what's the plan?"

"The Reds have a some sort of car bomb rigged up on one of the motorcycles. The Snakes like to roll out of the factory on a marathon around the city causing as much damage as they can. When they try to do that now though..." Tucker made a face and Caboose started making explosion noises a little bit too energetically.

"Alright sounds like a plan," Church said. He glanced down at his clock and saw the clock strike four o'clock in the afternoon. "How long are waiting?"

"Until six," Tucker said and Church had to sigh.

"Goddamnit."

 **Unlike all the other stories that I said I won't do but then starting doing them without stop, I will not continue this. I remember writing this a little while back while writing The Voyage. And as far as I can remember of the plot I designed for this is that Church is connected to the Director as a brainwashed kid who was unknowingly providing crumbs for the CIA. Texas got him out of it. The Vinni family got destroyed, somehow, and then he joins the Azzurro family before becoming Boss. And then both the Russo and Azzurro went to war with the Freelancers.**

 **IDK for sure if that was the original plan. And I don't think I care. I don't know what this story is and it will just be this. From me at least. If anyone wants to adopt it, I ask that you inform me as I would like to read it. So again, pls understand this. This just here to save up space and to spread the idea, because I really liked it.**

 **Anyways, Trane7 Signing off.**


	3. Chapter 3

"What's the deal with those three?" Church asked as he swept his hand over the three Russo's on the other side of the room.

"Who, them?" Tucker asked as he eyed them. The darkly colored man shrugged his shoulders as he adjusted his fedora. "They're Russo's, what do you expect? They take offense at being in the same room with any of the other families."

Church had to give him that as he watched the oldest of three, someone he was able to infer as being called Sarge, began berating the only non-italian in the group. The man took the verbal beating relatively well, shooting his own retorts that heavily outweigh the older man's arguments.

"Do you know if they're any good in a fight?" He could tell that the one named Sarge had been in the army. If the nickname wasn't a dead ringer than the way he stood ramrod straight all the time sure did. But the other two, they didn't seem like the best of fighters in Church's opinion.

"Hell if I know but Russo's have their pride to worry about. They would rather die than allow softies in their bunch." Church nodded his head in acquittal.

"Yeah I played tag with a Russo once," Caboose piped in from the side, "It wasn't really all that fun since he was cheating. He kept on trying to throw knives at me and I got mad so we played arm wrestling instead. Then he decided to break the table and fell asleep on the floor." The way the Azurro worded that made Church suddenly go into high alert, this kid was definitely psychopathic, or too stupid to realise he was.

"Hey eyes up, it's game time." Church blinked and pushed himself off the wall to stare at the streets. Tucker was right, the gates to the old warehouse was opening up wide, revealing a loose gaggle of motorcyclists revving up their engines.

"How incredibly cliche," Church deadpanned as he stared at the leather jackets and pompous hairstyles. It made him ashamed that he was even apart of this generation.

"The bomb should go off any minute now...," On cue the lead motorcyclists hooted a call to the others to begin their would-be marathon. They all let out a shrill cry trying to mimic native americans before speeding towards the exit. Church guessed they got five feet from their starting point before the leading motorcycle went up in flames. The surprising loss of one of their own sent the others reeling as they tried to regain control of their vehicles.

They few gang members that were cheering them on suddenly scattered, their hands pulling out weapons and such from their jackets as they perceived the oncoming assault. Church pulled out his pistol, eyeing the dispersed gangers as they tried to regain control of the situation.

"So what now?" He asked. That was as far as he went before gunfire erupted next to him. The maroon lined Russo had a Thompson gripped in his fingertips and it seemed his finger was pretty greasy because he just would not let go of the trigger.

"Come on!" Tucker gripped his shoulder, forcing him to follow as the darker skinned Azzurro pulled out a pistol as well. "The Russo's will get their attention, we'll deal with the leader."

With that said, Tucker ran to a door at the back of the room and none too gently kicked it open. His gun swooped down the staircase on the other side before he headed downstairs.

"Oh! Let's go!" Caboose yelled and to Church's surprise he pulled out an M1 Garand from seemingly nowhere. The younger looking male sent him a happy grin before darting to follow Tucker out of the door.

Church only blinked after them, spurring to action after he realised that he was left alone in a room with Russo's. He chased down the two Azzurro's and he ducked just as he exited the building when bullets impacted the wall next to him. He paused, switching from checking the streets for police officers to ducking between cover as he slowly zeroed in one where the Azzurro's were.

He heard the sharp contrast of M1 fire as opposed to the greaser guns that the Backdoor Snakes used. Church crept forward slowly, dodging a hail of gunfire long enough to slip in between Tucker and Caboose. "Is this all there is to the plan?!" He yelled over the din of gunfire.

"Pretty much!" Tucker yelled. He hoped over their cover, pulling out a second pistol as he scored two hits on a trio of Snakes crowding by the entrance. He dodged from side to side as he ran, making himself a harder target as he slid next to the gates.

Caboose pulled out of cover and began firing, his aim not as accurate as Tucker's but able to hit all the important red barrels to cause the most effective damage. Overhead Church could hear the Russo's continuing their cover fire, the tanned one apparently heading to get their escape car prepared.

"Look! Those people over there look pretty angry, but my mom always says that angry people are just angry because no one plays with them. Maybe you should play with them?!" Caboose said, more louder than necessary. Church translated it as a simple order to deal with them and followed it just to get as far away from the mad kid as possible.

He popped out of cover, spotting the group of 'angry-looking people', and opened fire. They scattered as a number of them dropped down to the ground in pain, a few getting socked right in between the eyes.

An explosion went off deep inside the warehouse and Tucker was waving his hand in the air. "Come on! Let's end this!" He jumped out cover and ran deeper into the warehouse.

Caboose and Church followed, the Russo's letting up on their obsessive suppressing fire as there were no enemies in sight. From there it was merely a fight deeper into the section of the compound, which Church noted were spread out with various shrubbery and grass growing out of its cracks.

The place looked old and worn, a perfect hideaway for a backwater gang like the snakes. Or, the perfect hidey-hole for any family member trying to wait out any heat.

"Up at the scaffolding!" Tucker yelled as he rolled behind a metal pillar. Gunfire erupted above, and Church spied four Snakes with grease guns pointing down the corridor. "Caboose switch guns with Church!" Tucker ordered.

Caboose paused, then smiled widely as he tossed the weapon towards Church and pulled out a pistol in replacement. Church caught it out of the air, staring at Tucker quizzically as he did.

"You can hit a target that far, can't you?" He taunted. Church grinned and brought his rifle up, steadying his aim as he slowly breathed out. He clicked the trigger and cursed silently as the first shot missed wide. The second clipped a Snake in the shoulder and the next bullet hit squarely against his chest. The Snake swung right, facing his comrades with his weapon raised by the hip and spewing uncontrollable bullets down the scaffolding.

The Snakes fell victim to their dead comrades friendly fire and the battle from then on was relatively simple. Well it would have, if a beast of a man didn't appear next to Tucker and tossed him across the area. "Gah!" He yelled as he slammed painfully into a brick wall.

"Azurro!" Church yelled and rounded on the behemoth. The man stood a full two heads taller than the Vinni, and he instinctively took a step back in fright. That full two seconds of nothing was met with a sudden and brutal attack, the beast landing a heavy fist into Church's chest and knocking him into a dumpster off to the side.

Church landed painfully onto his side, glancing worriedly as the brute made his way towards Caboose. "Oh hello! Do you want to be my friend?" The man raised his fist and sent it hurtling down onto Caboose's head, who caught it swiftly without even a flinch. "Oh great! You know my favourite game!" He pulled the man forward, hooked his arm around the man elbow and pulled.

A deafening roar filled the air as the man's arm bent at an awkward angle, and Caboose let go with a loud cheery laugh. Like a kid at a toy shop, and the worst part about it is, Church wasn't even sure if Caboose knew what he just did. "Oh man this is so much fun!" Then the Azzurro promptly shot the man in the head, splattering blood onto the ground as he turned towards Tucker and Church.

"Are you guys sleepy? Do you want a nap break? Uhhhh I don't think this place is a good place for a nap break," Caboose glanced at all the trees and dirt, "It's dirty." Church stared at the kid incredulously but decided not to dwell on those thoughts as he got up.

Tucker was dusting off his side, coughing as dirt had somehow made it's way into his mouth. "Ok...how far do we have left?"

"There's only the main warehouse left," Church answered. As if on cue the Russo's entered view, gruff looking male taking up the front.

"Nice work...bluetards." Sarge said in greeting. "Simmons where's that no good slacker Grif off to?" Sarge asked the man next to him.

"He was parking the car last I saw, Sir," Simmons replied. Church noticed how the man was looking Church over, eyes that were docile moments before now alight with a sudden territorial aggression.

The tanned one, which Church assumed was Grif, strode up behind the group as as he tucked a set of keys into his breast pocket. "Escape cars dealt with," he exclaimed, "Can we just sit back and realise the fact that we completely neglected the garage they keep in this place, which is never guarded and could have allowed us to just walk right in here."

"Nonsense dirtbag. Once we're in what would you think we'd do with the Snakes? Kill them quietly? That is not the Russo way, we defeat them by outnumbering them or simply outgunning them, that is our way!" Sarge rebuked passionately.

Grif flattened his lips as he stared at Sarge, "Doesn't really seem like an effective motto since we have the highest casualty rate out of all the families."

Sarge growled at Griff and Church rolled his eye.

"So, are we going or what?"


End file.
